Day X - Birmingham
It's not an easy thing to summate the thoughts and feelings of the past few weeks and I attempt it now not entirely confident that I will be successful. Indeed I am waiting for the usual flow to take me but the current is not there, stagnant I think is the descriptor. I look back at highs and lows,
It's not an easy thing to summate the thoughts and feelings of the past few weeks and I attempt it now not entirely confident that I will be successful. Indeed I am waiting for the usual flow to take me but the current is not there, stagnant I think is the descriptor. I look back at highs and lows,
the 'emotional ECG'
of it and find cause to treat any sensation or mood with a wary eye so mindful am I now of their fleeting conviction. One day joy, the next gloom, was either emotion worth the heartstring it was written on? It’s as if there if there is no definable identity, you are one of a myriad of personalities created only by a given state of mind. The subconscious and its teeming processes are hidden from our analysis but every second of every day they are creating and destroying you like a miniature Shiva inside us all. But there is solace in such vibrant variation and the furious energy it seems to grant, home is such a comfortable coma where I could close my eyes and sleep for a thousand years. How I miss travel, there was a certainty in the uncertain, a joy in having bearings but no mooring. The possibilities
of the next few months are terrifying to me, might dreams be dashed on the rocks of practicality? (that’s enough maritime metaphors I think). But there are reasons to be grateful too and I am certainly not the only one indisposed. What unwavering friendship I have received these weeks. What infinite patience with an insolent patient! ‘Thanks’ doesn’t really seem to do it justice, how can one find the words? The progenitors too fly ten thousand miles and now house me once again, how many more times? As many as it takes I suspect. So there is the silver lining to this monsoon cloud, the reaffirmation that when I do fall there is somebody to pick me up (even if it is from the side of a railway track).
of it and find cause to treat any sensation or mood with a wary eye so mindful am I now of their fleeting conviction. One day joy, the next gloom, was either emotion worth the heartstring it was written on? It’s as if there if there is no definable identity, you are one of a myriad of personalities created only by a given state of mind. The subconscious and its teeming processes are hidden from our analysis but every second of every day they are creating and destroying you like a miniature Shiva inside us all. But there is solace in such vibrant variation and the furious energy it seems to grant, home is such a comfortable coma where I could close my eyes and sleep for a thousand years. How I miss travel, there was a certainty in the uncertain, a joy in having bearings but no mooring. The possibilities
of the next few months are terrifying to me, might dreams be dashed on the rocks of practicality? (that’s enough maritime metaphors I think). But there are reasons to be grateful too and I am certainly not the only one indisposed. What unwavering friendship I have received these weeks. What infinite patience with an insolent patient! ‘Thanks’ doesn’t really seem to do it justice, how can one find the words? The progenitors too fly ten thousand miles and now house me once again, how many more times? As many as it takes I suspect. So there is the silver lining to this monsoon cloud, the reaffirmation that when I do fall there is somebody to pick me up (even if it is from the side of a railway track). Lucky? Me? Damn right.
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